Mirror Mirror

Chapter 6

John awoke the next morning feeling much better. The first thing he saw after opening his eyes, was the new bedding he'd been lying on, luxurious, decadent, soft. The restraints still dangled from the bedposts in a lurid and suggestive manner while realistic dildos, butt-plugs, riding crops, gags, and other items peeked cheekily from the cabinet. One shelf in the corner held a music player and speakers. This place looked so ready for action, John thought he might see a leather-clad Sherlock come striding in in a zip up mask and thigh-high boots. That thought sent a jolt through him, not unlike the one he'd received last night. No amount of pretending, desiring or wanting his flat mate had prepared him for the reality of the scenario he had woken up to this morning.

This was his room for Christ's sake, he thought angrily. Sherlock had no right to impose whatever he wanted on him. Even if this might be the detective's way of letting John know his desires, there had to be a better way to go about it.

John steeled himself to face Sherlock. But first, he'd worried about the lingering effects of electrocution. He checked for tingling or numbness in his extremities, headache; he listened to his steady heartbeat with his stethoscope, and he looked his legs over for burns. The points of contact were red and sore, but remarkably, he'd sustained very little damage. Perhaps the current hadn't been that strong or had pulsed on and off until the breaker had exploded. Thank God it had, he thought, or he'd be dead. What a stupid way to go, he mused.

His body, on the other hand, gave him pause. He was fit! The well-kept beard flattered his face, and he looked edgier in the clothes he currently wore. Somewhere along the way, he'd upgraded his image to badass. He grinned at his reflection admiringly and thought, well at least there's one silver lining.

He couldn't discount the idea that he must have damaged his mind more that he knew. He might be missing chunks of his memory, or his perception could be skewed abnormally. He couldn't discount that as a possibility, and so, he might want to go slow until he got his bearings again.

He pulled on his shoes, straightened his clothes and went out to face the day.

The kitchen and sitting room stood empty. It looked much like he remembered it. It held no other surprises, no experiments cluttering the table and more importantly, no Sherlock. John didn't know whether or not to be glad or disappointed. Sherlock's door remained shut, a silent recrimination to John's behavior last night perhaps. Thinking back, he shouldn't have pushed him out the door so abruptly. But, he simply hadn't had the energy to deal with it then.

He fussed about, making tea and toast for breakfast. He opened the cupboard and stared at what he found inside. Right in front, he found his old RAMC mug. Sherlock had accidently exploded into in ceramic dust about a month after they been living together. He'd apologized and ordered a duplicate off the internet, but it wasn't quite the same color or shape. This was, however, his old mug; the chip on the rim was in the same place, the crack along the handle along with the glue he'd used to repair it still glistened. It had a few more tea stains on the inside, but this was his mug, beyond a doubt. Impossible. He'd seen it explode right in front of him. He'd wiped off the dust fragments from the front of his jumper, and he'd given Sherlock hell for destroying one of his most treasured mementos from his time spent in the military.

He took it down from the shelf and held it quietly for a few minutes. A magic trick perhaps, he wondered, he wouldn't put it past his flat mate. He didn't doubt that Sherlock had the ability to deceive him like this. But why destroy it, and why bring it back now?

John heard the click of an opening door and Sherlock stepped into the kitchen fully dressed, looking immaculate, his face impassive.

They stared at each other for a full minute before speaking. Sherlock stood alert and assessing. "How are you feeling?" he asked breaking the silence.